Sarah Rupp

I.

Let's talk about peat moss, let's talk about the in between animals and gods. I can feel my wisdom teeth coming in again, even though I had them removed in a hotel lobby four years ago. Eternal return. They didn't even put me under, those fuckers. I pulled tooth fragment out with my bare hands while commuting to work on BART last summer. On those drugs, I ran down to the Potomac river during hurricane Isabel because a dead person dumped me.

II.

Let's talk about explosions and thunder, the lonelier weathers. I wrote a missed connection for the hot queer librarian after eating chicken on the steps. I'm flipping through so many books again, I sleep with them at night curled to my chest. I wake up and write illegible, perfect madness. Phrases like: ZEBRA HOLOGRAM CONFIRMS QUEER PESSIMISM.

III.

Let's talk about iron and thicker blood. A city has so many membranes, it's hard to keep track of. We walked from Shockoe Bottom towards Hollywood Cemetery. All the bridges we crossed were commissioned by racists and dedicated to dead racists. Still, we dangled our feet over the edges, the slow water of the James creeping southward underneath us. A leathery old man did jumping jacks. The cement ruins straddling the river looked like Roman aqueducts.

Sarah Rupp lives in Richmond, Virginia, but she wants to grow up to be a wolf pupy. Find her on the internet at her Tumblr or her Facebook art project.